JONES: An island treasure lost

Beach pavilion was community center, memory maker

For those of us who grew up on Fifth Street in Beach Haven, the pavilion at the end of the street is iconic. There are - excuse me, were - only two on the entire island, so we always felt our street was special.

Much more than a wooden structure, it holds many treasured memories for my family, now fourth generation, and others who have lived here. We consider ourselves part of a Fifth Street family of sorts.

When we were little, the pavilion seemed huge to us. When we walked to the front and looked over the white railing to the sand below, we felt like it was a 50-foot drop. Of course, the challenge was to overcome our fear, slip outside the railing and, when we felt brave enough, jump to the soft, sugary white sand waiting below.

Beneath the front of the pavilion, shade was provided for those seeking refuge from those burning, hot summer days. Way back under the wooden boardwalk that led up to the structure was a hidden world. We would crawl back up there, dig holes and pretend to be in a fort with our Tonka toys and Army men, hidden from the outside world. We could hear people talking and walking above us, but they had no clue we were just below their feet. Oh, the simple joys and imaginations of a child!

Everyone would walk to the pavilion multiple times each day. Some started their day there, enjoying morning coffee and newspaper. For others who were avid surfers like myself, it was a daily ritual to look out due east, then turn our gaze north to Taylor Avenue or south toward Center Street to see how the waves were breaking and locate the best spot.

It was a fairly common occurrence to see dolphins playfully cavorting just beyond the sandbar. Those with binoculars would scan the shoreline and horizon to locate fishermen and fishing boats to see what was being caught. Others, who weren't particularly fond of the beach or not permitted to be in the bright sunlight, would sit on the wooden benches and, vicariously at least, enjoy the activities of others on the beach.

When going to the beach on those crowded summer days, we need only say, "I'll be on the left of the pavilion," or "I'll be on the right of the pavilion." Those simple words provided ample direction, enabling friends and family to locate us and place their beach chairs and towels next to ours.

Seagulls could be seen perching on the roof, usually eating the clams they dropped there to break them open. Weddings were fairly commonplace and always made everyone sit up and take notice. None was more special to me than the wedding of my niece a few years back. Having spent every summer on Fifth Street, it was symbolic of her deep love for the beach.

For those who attended Easter sunrise services, the pavilion again was called into service. Years ago, when attendance was small, we would all gather on the pavilion, pastor and congregation. As time passed and attendance increased dramatically, the pavilion served as the pulpit, with most of the congregation on the beach below.

After dinner, walking down to the pavilion was part of our daily ritual. It didn't matter that we had been on the beach all day! The pavilion was our outdoor community center, where we would talk over the events of the day with friends, neighbors and visitors with the beautiful ocean as a backdrop.

As dusk tuned to nightfall, the pavilion provided a ringside seat as the moon appeared right out of the horizon, rising in all its splendor and spreading a shimmering, golden path across the waves. When nor'easters blew in, as they did on occasion and usually lasted three days, we could escape "cabin fever" by venturing to the end of the street and, under the shelter provided by the pavilion, observe the tumultuous churning of the ocean.

One of the most poignant reasons for my love of the pavilion is the vivid memory of my mom, Tamea Jones, painstakingly planting dune grass and yucca plants in the sand dunes that border either side of the entrance to the pavilion. She realized that the roots of those little plants are what helped to solidify the dunes and perform their most valuable job - to function as a first-line of defense against storms. They did their job well during Sandy's onslaught!

I pray, not only for the sake of Fifth Street residents, but for all those who frequent Beach Haven, that the pavilion will be rebuilt. It has far more value than being aesthetically pleasing. It truly is a symbol and a gathering place for many of us, creating a sense of family, community and common ground. If rebuilt, it will continue to provide countless more memories. When considering whether or not to rebuild, these reasons are both priceless and timeless, far outweighing any monetary outlay.

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JONES: An island treasure lost

For those of us who grew up on Fifth Street in Beach Haven, the pavilion at the end of the street is iconic. There are ? excuse me, were ? only two on the entire island, so we always felt our street

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